


you remind me of love that i once knew

by Lala_Zynx



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller, เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (Thailand TV), เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (Thailand TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Light Angst, M/M, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lala_Zynx/pseuds/Lala_Zynx
Summary: Win is Patrocleus and Bright is Achilles. Well, at least a part of them are part of Achilles and Patrocleus.
Relationships: Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree/Win Metawin Opas-iamkajorn, Tine Teepakorn Aekaranwong/Sarawat Guntithanon
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	you remind me of love that i once knew

**Author's Note:**

> please check out song of Achilles, it is a brilliant book. but in that story, Achilles is a greek hero and Patrocleus is his sworn companion and well, they are divinely approved lovers.

**1\. release.**

“They used to start so young, the men we saw in the war,” cut Win's voice through the phone.  
“Who are you talking about?” asked Bright in response.  
He was calling him right after he finished doing the paperwork for his country's annual military draft raffle. This year, he dodged it by chance, just like last time. But he doubted anyone had a princess to be stolen even for years after this one. These days, war is less about honor than it is about wealth. While his knowledge about wealth barely changed, this time he is more adept to wield it. In this lifetime, the father he has is patient, kind, and understanding. A man worth every gold-laminated decoration inside his bathroom.  
It is harder for Bright to catch on. It is another penance that Win had to bear. The weight of knowing and latching on that knowledge, the pain. Win liked the weight. It held him down when he was barely breathing under the surface of others. Others’ pressure, others’ knowledge of him and with it along came others’ expectations. This weight is his and his only.  
Win answer Bright's question with a laugh, "Don't mind me, tell me about lunch again"  
Win is an open book that is written in words only he is capable of reading. He taught his brother, his sisters, a couple of his closest friends some words it is written in. Although, for Bright, he was fluent in the language way before Win even opened the cover for him.

**2\. a way.**

The sun is shining harshly, beating down the pavement. Their city has a river, something lively and open. Even now, there are bodies of water around them. Maybe it is Achilles’ mother's gift or warning. It could always be both, so they admire the river's strength although some days they looked upon it with suspicion. The calm ripple of its movement, the traffic of the boats, it is a whole new beast. Win always tried to exude gratitude every time he went near the water. He is safe here, now. When the other boy turned to him, he swore he could hear ocean waves instead, moving in foreign hues, crashing into stones that belong anywhere but here.  
“You were never a fighter, your hand is too heavy and your gait is clumsy” said Bright out of nowhere.  
Win turned to look at him, raising his eyebrows, even millennials later, the banter stayed the same. He was lounging on the passenger seat. Win sat on the front, the wind ruffled his shirt. When he breathed deep, there was salt and the smell of the sun. Just like those long days in the shore, where he was wandering around looking for a purpose when his beloved companion went ravaging around the villages.  
“I talked to people, our people. I cared for them and I held them like they were my own family. I healed them after every battle, so you can finish the war”  
The silence that came afterwards is palpable. This is the longest sentence he ever spoke about their past life. And he wondered how the stranger behind the boat steering wheel must have had in mind. The strangeness of conversation overheard through the bellow of the evening wind. Especially this one.

He never liked it, the pain that came afterwards. It caused his hands to clench and made him grind his teeth. This is his punishment. For wandering too long, for asking a god for one last penance, for going against Zeus. Zeus never liked soulmates, they were one less soul to worship him, ain't no good for the economy of worship. Soulmates made up of a hero and a mortal especially irked him, no matter whose son it involved, it steals attention of gods. creating feeble distraction, causing them to clamor for a cause. Fickle and feeble quarrels that arise gave Zeus a headache.  
“I think I existed in this lifetime to be by your side, to guide you, just like you did with me,” said Bright.  
The smile that Bright had on right now is playful. Win does not know if it is the heat from the sun or the weight of the wind around him but he had half a mind to scold him fiercely.  
“You were quiet back then, now you said the sweetest thing just to appease me, and I don't know which one I like better”  
They had moments like these ones, most often inside the privacy of their bedrooms. Other times when he was driving them home. Or stolen ones, the very rare ones when the buzz of others still waning around them. When Bright put his lips close to his ears, whispering words only both of them know the gravity it holds. Even now, the world is still unkind for boys who choose to be with other boys. Boys who sleep side by side, legs entangled out of affection, and so close they are sharing heartbeats.

**3\. Platonic love.**

“It is funny how Plato wrote about us. Oh well, he mostly writes about you. I was just a name mentioned in suggestion. The greatest hero always have a companion”  
“I thought you were talking about platonic love, ”. He shakes his head and laughs.  
“You still said that after our kiss?”  
Now it is Win’s turn to blush, he wants to bury his inflamed cheeks underneath his hands, to save him from the embarrassment. His mind lately has been a cinema and the only film playing is the taste of Bright’s lips, the softness of it, completed with the sensation of his weight on top of him.  
“About soulmates too, Plato even said we are divinely approved” They were both young, even millennials ago, they are both still young. It is funny sometimes, how young they were and then they try to finish this task, of defining love. Maybe, they think it is a noble enough goal. For love that travels between lifetimes, touching people around them but never binds them. For the moment they met, the red of the string matched the fire that covered Achilles' whole psyche when Patrocleus left him for death.  
“I pray everyday when I wander the earth without you. That you would be given a mother that love you as fiercely as her, and will deign to give me room to love you too” said Win softly.  
His head is on Bright’s lap, the rhythm of Bright's finger brushing his hair a strand after another, it does not falter. A mother’s love. Their meeting now, perhaps borne from the force of a mother’s prayer. In this lifetime, it push the Gods to be kind enough. Family, kind ones not just kin. Win breathed out another prayer, for their family and for them and to him, they are complete.

A person's idea of intimacy is each to their own. How they spell it. For him, he could list it by the gestures. He could list it on and on but he chooses not to. He chooses to snuggle closer to his warmth, sneak a kiss lightly on the slope of his neck. Next one just next to the curl of his smile. Like this is a feast fit for gods, ambrosia and nectar. The first time Win laid eyes on Bright, there was something inside of him that exclaimed proudly, stood up to its full height unfurling from its slumber. The life he has after it exclaimed. There he is, for you only, Win.  
They both snored in their sleep and they like to curl up to themselves. Just like kids, a couple of boys. It is one of the first things they learnt of each other. And even now, they like to stand on the opposite side. The music they heard are different, even the sports they picked up are different too. But they already died for each other once in another lifetime, and now they are just learning how to adjust. What is intimacy after all, without adjustment?

**4\. marks of Mars.**

"You aren't really him and I am not really him, okay,” Win tried to hold down his whisper. So it did not rise up in volume, a product of his anger. Last night, he dreamed of wandering. Of being a ghost, of being forgotten. Now he tried to be remembered. He wanted Achilles while the parts of Patrocleus still resided inside him, leftover from his dream last night. The man in front of him, he cannot see him clear enough.  
We were supposed to be on a break away from others. A little room for us to catch a breather. He knew that he is tired and he wanted to talk about this tomorrow or next week or any other second but now and yet he already said it.  
Of course he asked, "What do you mean? What are you trying to do?"  
Standing up still, Win can see how Bright's stance shifts weakly. They are slipping into role after role. Win is too tired to keep track of it. His intimacy included chasing after facets of reality.  
And he was never good at talking about his feelings. The tides inside his heart crashed into a wall that he built himself. Brick by brick, he carved those defenses, some with others’ misunderstanding, some with heartbreak, the pain of being ignored.  
"Don't try to act your way out of this, like you cannot see it, like our dreams haven't been passing by each other".  
His dreams are always tethered into another, a foreign form. Something that is not his, half of it belonged to the only other person in the room right now. Even in his sleep, he's afraid of the empty space in his bed.

  
When he was a child, he tried to explain it to his sister,  
"There's always someone else with me. In my dreams I can touch his hand and feel ourselves running beside each other, trying to see whose legs are the fastest,” His sister laughed in response, warning him about ghosts. A kid’s mind can understand monsters or dead people’s ghosts but not of dead souls jostling inside them. An ancient puzzle piece and of some great misfortune, befall upon him. And upon their other half too. Even then he knew one thing, ghosts don't smell like the sea or the air just after a thunderstorm. Ghosts don't have rays of sunlight reflected in their warm eyes, holding you down like an anchor to a ship.

  
When he talked to him, everything tumbled out, like marbles out of a child's secret possession. It glides to the floor and nobody wants to catch it.  
"I’m not playing any role with you, any longer, so you better admit it or I will not say another word," the words left Win’s mouth crossing the boundaries they set in silence.  
After he said it, he saw how the words slowly affected Bright. His shoulder slumped, he had seated himself on the couch. He sits with his head between his hands. Win wishes that words don't carry anything between them. That it could always be banter and silly remarks. But he had seen death countless times and dreamed about the Mediterranean coast littered with blood courtesy of a boy who went to war for him.  
"If you keep quiet and I keep quiet, will you stop looking at me like you know me and I know you?" He whispered again.  
If he didn't catch himself, he probably would have been throwing things at him. He is so desperate to be known, these parts of himself that painted itself red and came to him in a dream, words then came unbidden. Those dreams push him to make a bid. A bid to be recognized.  
"I will not look at you anymore, I will not talk, I will not even acknowledge you. I will slip into a shell, to pretend, and you will forsake us. there shall never be us," the words ring, it loops around the two of them. He's afraid but now he can never take it back.  
"We're not them," Bright cannot even bring himself to speak louder. Is this your greatest hero, now?  
"We're not them, we're brothers, friends. But we're not them.”  
Win walked towards him, to the hulking figure, sitting defeated on the chair. His steps are slow, unsure. He'd never been here before but it felt like he breathed the moment to exist, the point of confrontation.  
He touched his shoulder, the slope of it, just right when it met his pale neck. Next, the soft bristles of his hair. Dark and light, his fingers touched them softly like the fluttering of wings. Win envied his ability to deny. Even now, he still envied him just a little bit, to be sure of something and deny its existence the next. This is the heroes’ greatest aptitude for him.  
"They are brothers, too. They trained together, ate together, they drank. And they sing and play music for each other. They are friendly too, familiar to the bones, and yet we are here also, aren't we?" asked Win.  
When Bright looked up, Win pulled his hand away from him as if he's burned. The eyes, it came back, slowly and seeped through like spilled wine on a rug.  
"What good does it come from knowing?" asked Bright.  
And he knew what it meant. He's tired. Even now, he's fighting alone, in his own path, always barely touching Bright’s.  
What good does a string have when it is only intertwined? In that lifetime, he cannot do anything, that was his path and his only. But now he got a choice. So he chose, choosing to walk away from this path. Someday, in this lifetime, maybe then.


End file.
